The Eyes of March
by Phx
Summary: First appeared in Blood Brothers 5; Sam went to bed fine. Now he's not. Part 3 of 3.
1. Chapter 1

First appeared in Blood Brothers 5. Set in the second season.

**The Eyes of March**

"_Beware the ides of March"_

_-Soothsayer-Julius Caesar_

**March 15th, 2007**

Sam woke up blind.

At first, he wasn't sure he was blind. He just thought it was dark in the room but—just before he freaked out—he realized there was no way in hell it was _that_ dark.

And, of course, Dean wasn't there to witness the spectacular occasion. Sam knew his brother was AWOL because the first thing he had done was yell, "Dean!" and there was just no way his brother would have ignored the high-school-girl panicked tone in his voice.

Dean was…someplace else. Sam didn't know where. Last he remembered, they were going to bed. But Dean wasn't there now—was it early enough to get breakfast?—and that was all that mattered.

Nothing like waking up blind, alone… Sam wouldn't recommend it to anyone. So he really couldn't be blamed for the mess he'd made of the room fumbling around in a blind and terrified rage. Surely, things all over the place, a picture or two possibly askew, a broken lamp—that was all part of a reasonable reaction, right?

Soon enough though, Sam managed to compose himself and was sitting on the edge of his bed. Although, it might have been Dean's bed, Sam was blind so he was only guessing. It was a bed, and that was good enough.

And of course, that was when, with a click of a key in the lock, some grumbling when the key stuck a bit, and a rush of cold air, Dean returned. "Grabbed some breakfast burritos and—Sam?" Dean's voice went wary, the door shutting behind him with a _thud_. "Uh… What the hell happened here? You wind the maid up and let her go or something?"

He'd obviously seen the mess then.

"Well, on the good side," Sam was so proud of how matter-of-fact he sounded, "you're not blind."

"Okay…" His brother drew the word out but hadn't moved from his place at the door.

Or maybe he had. Sam was blind so he didn't know for sure, but his brother didn't _sound_ like he'd moved.

"And?"

"And I am."

Talk about a conversation stopper.

For what seemed a very long time Dean was silent.

In fact, Sam wasn't even sure his brother was still there, except that he hadn't heard Dean leave, and even before he'd had trouble seeing, Sam had had very good hearing.

"Huh?"

His older brother, ever so eloquent. Apparently Dean's ears weren't as good as Sam's or—

A horrified thought shot through Sam. "Are you deaf?" he demanded, his voice sounding harsher than he'd meant. But he was still—_quietly_—freaking out.

"What? No!"

"Well, that's good." And Sam meant it. This time he heard Dean move away from the door. There was the sound of paper rustling close-by; Dean was probably putting down the food he'd picked up. Then Sam flinched when cold and calloused fingers touched his jaw. He hadn't heard his brother move closer. Damn stealthy hunter.

"What do you mean, you're blind?" Dean tipped Sam's head from one side to the other.

Sam closed his eyes and huffed quietly, then reopened them because he had no doubt his brother was within inches of his face, staring intently. "Just what I said. I'm blind."

"People just don't wake up blind, Sam," Dean patronized. "It's not even nine o'clock in the morning yet!"

"Then apparently, I'm not 'people,' because I did." Tit for tat.

"This isn't funny." One of Dean's fingers plucked at Sam's eyelids, first one then the other.

Sam batted at him, his hand making contact with a solid and slightly heavily breathing chest. Dean was still wearing his leather jacket. It was cold and Sam shivered slightly. "Stop that," he protested. "I'm not trying to be funny."

Dean finally gave up poking at him and Sam felt a strange rush of something—_fear?_—at the loss of contact. Then the older hunter was talking again before he could pin the feeling down.

"Can you see anything at all?"

Sam could hear the gentle scuff of boots on carpet and figured Dean was pacing in front of him. Slight breeze, dead giveaway. "No."

"Shadows?"

"Nope."

"Shapes?"

"Nothing."

"Shades?"

_What the f—? _"Dean?" Sam wondered exactly what part of "no, nope, and nothing" his brother was having trouble with. "Knock it off! I can't see anything!" He started gesticulating wildly just to emphasize things. "If I could see something, _anything_, you'd know because I'd say 'hey, Dean, I'm having trouble seeing things' not 'hey, Dean, I'm blind'!" Sam was freaking out again, but he figured he was kinda entitled.

Strong hands griped his shoulders and gave him a slight shake. It rattled Sam's jaw shut.

"Sam! Calm down."

Dean's voice was close to his ear and reassuring.

"We'll figure this out, okay? Just… Calm. Down."

Slowly, Sam let out a shaky breath. His brother's fingers tightened, warmth seeping through the grip. It grounded him. "Okay," he managed, suddenly bone weary even though he'd just woken up. "Okay."

Dean didn't move for another long moment, and Sam wished he could see him to know what the older man was thinking. Well, really, he wished he could see. Period.

"Besides being blind," Dean finally asked, "how do you feel?"

The hands were gone a moment before the bed dipped and a muscled thigh pressed against his own as Dean sat down next to him.

"I feel…" Sam gave it some serious thought. "Fine. I feel fine. A bit tired, maybe." He resisted the temptation to lean against his brother, not wanting to freak Dean out. Not wanting to freak Dean out any more than this sudden bout of blindness must be doing..

"No headache or anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No." His voice was quieter now, his chin dropped. He'd be looking at his hands if he was, well, _looking_. "Nothing."

"All right then." Dean shifted slightly. "First things first. We need to get you looked at."

Grimacing at his brother's choice of words, Sam desperately tried to think of something to avoid being hauled off to a doctor. Being poked and prodded by a stranger wasn't high on his list of things to do today. But it made sense. If Dean had suddenly woken up blind, Sam would be dragging him off for a checkup too.

Maybe they'd get lucky.

Maybe it would be something that could be fixed with a pill.

Maybe—

"Sam?" Dean nudged Sam's shoulder.

Sighing in resignation, Sam forced a tight smile. "No quacks." He tried to make a joke of it.

"Oh, geez, Sammy, there goes my fun." Dean stood up. "Okay, no quacks. And 'cause I'm such an awesome bro, no vets either!"

_Oh, God_. Sam wanted to glare at his brother, he really did, but instead, he waited, his cheeks burning with humiliation while Dean picked out his clothes.

* * *

The doctor was a bust. A frustrating and strangely terrifying bust, especially when they took Sam for an MRI, and Dean couldn't go with him. Sam might have been embarrassed by his sudden need for his brother to be where he could hear or feel him, but he was too unsettled and borderline terrified to care.

Dean waited outside the room and loudly proclaimed what _"a crock of shit"_ it was that he couldn't go inside, and Sam never loved the guy more, knowing his brother was just making sure Sam knew he was right there. A mere shout away. And it helped. It really did.

Blood samples were taken and drops put in his eyes as Sam was manhandled through examination after examination. The ER doc called in a specialist who consulted by phone with an even more special specialist, but six hours later, even the best of the best had no explanation for Sam's sudden blindness.

There was nothing wrong that they could see, so they started tossing around terms like "psychological blindness" and quietly asking Dean if Sam had dependency issues or was he an attention seeker. Sam didn't have to see his brother to know Dean was pissed; he heard the thinly disguised anger in Dean's voice as he answered curtly, "Screw you," grabbed Sam's arm and hauled him out of there. There was a familiar squeak of an old door, and then a gentle hand on his head kept him from braining himself as Dean hurried him into the car, slammed the door shut, then got in himself. The Impala roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot, the momentum shoving Sam against the door.

He didn't protest though, the supposedly quiet conversation between his brother and the doctor making him start to question himself. Were they right? Could this all be in his mind?

An even quieter voice wondered if maybe his visions had damaged something the doctors couldn't see. Sam shivered, his stomach lurching as the car traveled over rough road. He didn't ask where they were going. What did it matter anyway?

Inside the car it was quiet, no loud music thrumming out the speakers, and Sam was too relieved for the respite to question it. Eventually, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, praying that when he woke up, he'd be able to see again.

* * *

Sam was sick. Motion sickness, he figured as he lay flat on another motel bed, held on for dear life, and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Not that he could see the ceiling, but figured that unless Dean had gotten them bunk beds, it was the ceiling and nothing else.

He hadn't been able to sleep long in the car, the constant motion in his black world making him nauseated after about an hour. Dean had pulled over while Sam tried to sort himself out on the side of the road, but it didn't work very well. His stomach refused to settle. After ten minutes of being doubled over, retching and heaving, Dean's hand warm in the middle of his back, Sam was relieved when Dean declared they were stopping for the night.

"I called Bobby."

Dean's voice was close and it startled Sam. He knew his brother was in the room with him but he'd been so focused on trying not to hurl, he hadn't been paying much attention to where Dean actually was. It shouldn't have surprised him that his brother was near. Since Sam had woken up that morning Dean was always close by.

Sam appreciated it more than Dean could ever know.

He swallowed back bile and closed his eyes. It made no difference, but somehow it made him feel better. "And?"

"And he wants us to go to his place."

Dean's voice was moving, and Sam tried to figure out what his brother was doing. A slight hollowness as his brother finished speaking and then the louder sound of a stream of liquid hitting liquid had him crinkling up his face. Knowing Dean was in the bathroom had been enough, the extra little details were a bit too much information. Water went on as Dean washed his hands.

Then his voice was closer again. "I think it's a good idea."

Sam didn't say anything for a moment as sudden panic pounded the sound of blood in his ears. "I don't want to stay this way." He panted through the fear, trying to keep himself from losing it again. "I can't be blind, Dean. I can't."

The bed dipped beside him a moment before a hand was pressing against his chest.

"Sam—"

"No, you don't understand!" Sam pushed against his brother and struggled to sit up. "I don't like this! I'm useless—"

"Sam—"

Sam struggled against hands that tried to keep him down, slapping and shoving hard. "No, no! The demon, Dean, the demon! How can I fight him if I can't see him? I can't even pick out my own underwear. How the hell am I going to help you? I'm—"

"Okay. Enough, Sam. Enough!" Dean barked.

Sam was suddenly pinned down on the bed by his brother's body. Sam was breathless, and now his head was pounding too, his stomach roiling painfully. "Dean." Hot tears burned his face and he didn't even know what he was asking for, just that the word gave him comfort. "Dean…" His head rolled uselessly against the pillow until gentle fingers caught his jaw and forced his sightless gaze forward.

"Sammy, listen to me. Just listen for a second, okay?"

He had no choice. Listening was all he could do.

"Going to Bobby's isn't accepting anything. It's just the safest place for us to lay low while we try to figure out what the hell happened to you and fix it."

It hurt to hope, and Sam whimpered and tried to turn away again but Dean refused to let his jaw go. But Dean did shift his weight so he was sitting next to Sam and leaning over him instead of holding him in place.

"No. I told you to listen to me, so listen! Even if we can't figure this out, even if this is it for _life_…" Dean seemed to have trouble with the word. "It'll be okay… We'll figure something out, make it work, but no matter what, you will never be helpless or useless. You hear me? We'll figure this out, Sam. I promise. We will!"

Sam trembled as he struggled to accept Dean's words. He just felt so off-kilter since…well, since Jessica's death, the visions, the Demon, their father's death… The blows just kept coming. And now this? He struggled to regain his composure, embarrassed and floundering. "Okay," he finally breathed out, forcing himself to focus on Dean's solid grip. To pull on his brother's strength, once again. "We-we can go to Bobby's."

"Good," Dean sighed.

Sam could hear the weariness in his brother's voice. It had been a very long day. A gentle pat on his leg and then Dean was moving again. "You hungry? There's a little soup and sandwich place across the road. Saw it as we pulled in, probably still open. I can go grab us something. Soup for you?"

He wasn't really hungry but knew Dean was, so he gave a little nod. "Yeah. Chicken if they have it."

"You got it."

Sam didn't have to see to hear the pleased grin in his brother's voice as he heard Dean grab his jacket—leather had a definite sound—and put it on, keys jangling in the pocket as an arm was looped through.

"You be okay by yourself for a few minutes?" The hesitancy in Dean's tone said that he had only just realized he'd have to leave Sam by himself to actually go.

No, Sam wasn't, but he let his brother go anyway. "Yeah, I'm just going to lie here and do nothing exciting. I promise."

And that was exactly what he did.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**The Eyes of March**

**March 16, 2007**

Dean lay awake in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the familiar press of a knife beneath his pillow, comforting. Across the room, gentle rhythmic breathing told him Sam was still asleep, and that was comforting, too. It bought Dean a bit more thinking time before he had to play calm and keep his already freaked-out brother from freaking out any worse. Next to impossible when Dean himself was barely holding things together.

Shifting onto his side so he could see his brother, Dean sighed quietly. When he'd walked into the room the prior morning to a deceptively placid-looking Sam amid a whole room of destruction—man, the kid had given the room one hell of a going over—Dean had had no idea just what had happened. But never in a million years would he have guessed spontaneous blindness.

It was pretty messed up. How did you go to bed one night with perfectly good eyesight—better than perfect since Sam seemed to have the keenest way of seeing even the stuff Dean didn't want him to—and wake up the next morning blind as a bat? Dean had no idea, and that scared him even more than the thought that this might be permanent.

Permanent was something he could make arrangements for. Sure it would suck, but you could settle into a new routine. But this, right now, had an edge of desperation, a hope that it could be fixed, that made it much more frightening. And dangerous.

What the hell had happened?

Dean mentally triaged, searching his memory for anything they might have recently ticked off that could pull something like this. It had to be a spell of some sort since the Doogie Howser wannabes that had tried to pick his brother apart all day had come up with dick squat. No, actually that wasn't true. They were sure it was all in Sam's head. Well, obviously it was, Dean snorted bitterly, just not the way they meant it.

Sam was many things, but a fruit loop wasn't one of them.

A hitch in breathing had Dean paying more attention, watching all the subtle nuances of his brother waking up. A twitch in his cheek there, a soft whimper-snort here, a hand raised to idly scratch at something on his nose—yup, Sam was waking up.

Dean just wished he actually had something to say to him when he did.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded panicked.

Dean immediately sat up and crossed the distance between them, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed. Kid probably forgot he was blind. "Yeah." His voice was hoarse. God, he was tired. "Right here."

Sam scurried up and back until he was pressed against the wall, his chest heaving as he looked around the room.

"Hey, hey." Dean spoke quietly, putting a hand on Sam's leg. Ignoring how the guy flinched, he focused on the tremors he felt coursing underneath his fingers. "You're okay, Sam," he lied.

"I'm blind!" Sam's voice was high and anxious. "How's that okay?"

"It's no worse than yesterday." Dean paused, his eyes scanning a pale and slightly hyperventilating Sam, anxiety starting to hasten his pulse. "Is it?"

Sam took a moment to answer, then gave a quick shake of his head. "No. No worse."

"Okay." Dean let himself relax, and squeezed the muscle under his hand before letting it go. "Well, that's good." He stood up. "You hungry?" His own stomach growled and he blushed slightly when Sam's head tipped toward the noise. Figures, the kid would probably have hyper-hearing now that he was blind.

"No."

"Well, tough shit," Dean decided, knowing Sam had to be hungry. The soup Dean had brought back the previous night wasn't enough to keep 6'4" of little brother going for long. "I'm getting breakfast." He didn't bother to ask Sam what he wanted. Instead, he grabbed for his clothes and started to get dressed. He'd shower when he got back.

"Wait."

Sam's voice made Dean glance at his brother.

"I'll come with you." Sam was already pushing himself to the edge of the bed.

Dean wasn't really surprised, knowing his brother had been pretty spooked about being left alone last night. Sam had tried to hide it, of course, when Dean got back, but it was there then, and again now. Not that Dean could blame him.

"Sure," he said, already grabbing Sam's bag and hooking out some clean clothes for the kid. It didn't bother him as much as it probably should have, but a lifetime of caring for Sam took any awkwardness away. He passed the clothes to his brother, waiting until Sam's long fingers curled around them before letting go. "Black jeans, red tee, socks, and panties." He grinned as he turned his back and finished getting dressed.

"Gee, thanks." Sam was probably rolling his eyes.

Dean chuckled as he crossed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and scrub a cold cloth across his face. The pretty girls out there deserved that much at least.

When he came back out, Sam was dressed and standing in the middle of the room, an uncomfortable look on his face. Didn't take a genius to figure out the problem.

"Bathroom's straight ahead, about ten paces in front of you," he reminded Sam, taking a quick look along the path to make sure there was nothing to trip his brother up. "Toilet's to the right, sink's on the left, towel's hanging just above the toilet." He'd helped Sam last night but figured it would be enough to remind him of the layout. He was trying to let the kid keep as much dignity as possible and helping only as much as he knew Sam would want, even if it frustrated the hell out of Dean to just stand back and watch.

"Can you get my comb?" Sam asked a few minutes later, after Dean heard him flush the toilet and wash his hands.

"You want your whole shaving kit?" Dean asked, already moving to Sam's bag. Sam had an electric razor, so Dean wasn't worried about him accidentally cutting his throat or something if his brother decided to shave. He plucked out the shaving kit anyway.

"Do I have time to shave?" Sam asked instead of answering. He was standing in front of the sink when Dean fished out the comb and gave it to him.

Dean scrutinized his brother as Sam carefully combed his hair. The kid was pale but the dark circles under his eyes and an anxious look on his face were the only tells that something was wrong. Sam's eyes, though sightless, were fixed straight ahead, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd have thought Sam was looking at himself in the mirror. Stubble roughened the usually smooth jaw, and although Dean thought he looked fine, he knew Sam would feel better with it gone. His normally clean-shaven brother had never felt comfortable with even five o'clock shadow. "Yeah, we got time."

The palpable relief in Sam made Dean feel sick. "You want me to—?" He wasn't sure what he was offering but Sam was already waving him off.

"Nah, I'm okay. Just maybe…give me a couple of minutes?"

"Sure." Dean started to back out of the bathroom. "Holler if you need anything."

By the time Sam was done, Dean had packed up the room and carried the bags out to the car. No need for them to come back after breakfast. Anxious to get back on the road, he decided he'd shower at Bobby's later. He just hoped his brother didn't get carsick this time. He couldn't even imagine how disorienting it was to be riding awake with your eyes closed. Though, technically, Sam didn't have his eyes closed.

Giving his brother the once-over, Dean nodded. "Looks good," he appraised, unsurprised that Sam had managed a complete clean shave. "C'mon, car's all packed up. Here." He grabbed his brother's arm and carefully guided him out to the car. "I figured we'd take off right after breakfast."

Sam was quiet, letting himself be led out of the room and settled in the passenger seat. "This sucks, " he finally said. "I hate being helpless."

Dean lifted an eyebrow in surprise as he started the car. "You shaved," he pointed out. _Helpless? Is he for real?_

"And it took me nearly ten minutes to do it," Sam countered, not ready to cut himself any slack. "_And_ I needed directions to take a piss, _and_ you had to pick out my clothes. Helpless, Dean, let's just call it what it is and be honest with ourselves."

"Whiny bitch is what it is," Dean muttered, then shoved the gear into Reverse and backed away from the motel. "Look, Sam. It's only been a day. We'll figure this out. Just like I said last night, okay?"

Sam huffed quietly. His sightless eyes closed when Dean glanced across at him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever, Dean. I'm hungry."

And although Dean knew Sam was lying, he didn't bother to call him on it.

* * *

Dean found them a quiet-looking greasy spoon to stop for breakfast, knowing how self-conscious Sam was going to be as it was without having to perform in front of a huge audience. No one said anything as Dean got his brother seated at a small booth and grabbed a menu.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked as Sam idly fiddled with the tablecloth, his eyes fixed blankly ahead. To anyone passing them, it looked like Sam was staring at his brother. It unnerved Dean, and he had to keep reminding himself that Sam wasn't actually staring at anything.

God, this sucked.

Sam shrugged. "What seems good?" he asked, his voice subdued.

"Everything," Dean admitted, his stomach growling as he practically salivated over the menu.

It made Sam laugh. "Dude!"

Grinning, Dean chuckled. "I think I'm going to have the Trucker's Special. Eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns… Hmmm, I wonder if they'd make it grits instead of toast? Oh, and it comes with pancakes." All that for $4.95? Dean was in love.

"Trucker's heart-attack special would be more like it." Sam shook his head. "I think I'll stick to toast and coffee."

Dean closed the menu. "And pancakes, Sammy. I ain't sitting here and eating with anyone who won't order pancakes."

Sam squirmed a bit as the waitress made her way over, holding a pot of coffee. "I don't know, Dean…" he started.

But Dean was too busy inhaling the pretty little thing in the pink waitress outfit to pay him much attention. "Well, hello, darling." He gave her his best smile. "And don't you look pretty at this ungodly hour of the morning."

The brunette blushed and gave him a little laugh. "Aww, you're sweet." She leaned in and brushed something off the edge of Dean's shoulder. "And not looking half bad yourself."

Sam scoffed.

The girl seemed to notice him for the first time. If possible, her smile widened, she batted her eyelashes, and pretty much purred, "And what can I get you fine looking fellers this morning?"

"Coffee to start." Dean leaned back to let her fill his cup and then reached for Sam's as well. "Then I'm thinking the Trucker's Special. Unless you think there's something else I might like better…" He gave her his best you-know-you-want-me smile, but she was looking at Sam again.

Sam had turned his head toward her voice and gave her a pained smile. "Can I just have coffee and toast?"

The girl glanced down at Sam's full cup. Her smile wavered. "Uh…do you mean more?"

Dean lightly tapped his brother's foot. "Ah, c'mon, dude, don't insult the poor girl. Just because the stuff is blacker than you're used to. It's still coffee."

Sam got the message. He blushed furiously, his eyes dropping down. "Uh, yeah. Sorry. Just toast then. Thank you."

"And pancakes." Dean was not going to let his brother pass out from hunger. The kid had only had soup last night. He was going to need a lot more than some flimsy toast to keep him going, whether he liked it or not.

"Dean."

Sam's voice held a note of warning, but Dean brushed it off. "That'll be all, darling."

Giving them both an odd look, the waitress hurried to the kitchen with their order.

Turning to his brother, Dean snorted. "What is your problem, dude? You have to eat."

"And I'm going to eat toast. Dean, I don't want pancakes," Sam growled.

"Ooh, and why not?" Dean was not going to let this drop.

"Fine, you really want to know?" Sam's face was beet red. Anger or embarrassment? It was hard to tell. "How the hell am I supposed to pour syrup on them or cut them up and get them into my goddamned mouth without making a huge freaking mess? Huh? Did you think about that? Or are you planning on cutting them up for me so the rest of the world can see just what a total freak I am?" Sam started to stand.

Dean's hand flashed out and grabbed his wrist, unsure where his brother thought he was going but unwilling to let him go anyway. "Calm the hell down." Dean's voice was low. "And sit back down, man. The only one making a spectacle out of you, is you."

The muscle in Sam's jaw tightened, and for a moment Dean wasn't sure which way it was going. But then Sam exhaled loudly and slumped back down in the seat. His shoulders bowed as he deflated, and Dean hated every frigging second of it. Whatever did this to his brother was going to pay.

"You don't want pancakes, fine, don't eat them. That'll be a double order for me then. But you have to eat something more than toast. Have my bacon, at least." Dean hadn't actually thought about the mechanics of Sam eating something more complicated than toast or soup and felt enough like an ass to offer up his sacred bacon.

His brother blinked like he could see and his head tipped to the side. "Your bacon? Really?" Sam understood the sacrifice. "Dean…"

"Oh, shut up," Dean grumbled, not ready to receive whatever accolades his brother was about to bestow on him. He nudged Sam's mug toward his hand, making sure the handle touched skin and not the hot mug itself. "Drink your coffee, bro, before it gets cold."

Sam took a swallow, grimaced, and gingerly put his mug back down, careful to keep his fingers wrapped around the handle. "Cold might be an improvement."

* * *

A half an hour later, as they were getting ready to leave, Dean nipped into the john. Satisfied he'd be good for a couple more hours, he was on his way back to the table to collect Sam and pay the bill when two big guys suddenly blocked his way.

"I know you," one of the guys proclaimed, his face framed by a huge beard, his dark eyes beady and unhappy looking.

Dean frowned. He looked at the two guys and shrugged, neither looking familiar at all. "Sorry, guys, you got the wrong fella." He started to move past them when the second guy, scrawny and twitchy, put out an arm to block him.

"Don't think so," the bearded man continued, obviously the voice of the two, "and you owe us some money." He moved in closer to Dean. Shit bag actually purred. "_All_ your money, actually."

Dean stared at the man like he was an idiot. He knew exactly what this was and was shocked by the balls on the guys to try to pull it off right here in front of… Dean sighed wearily. In front of no one. The diner was empty now except for him, Sam, and the two bozos. The pretty waitress was in the kitchen; he could hear her voice and from the sounds of it, she was on the phone.

Wonderful. He had wanted somewhere quiet to give his brother some peace of mind while Sam ate breakfast, not to give some local yahoos the chance to pilfer his hard-earned money.

"Look, guys." He sighed again, resisting the urge to pinch his nose in frustration. He tried to be diplomatic. "We don't want any trouble—"

"Good, then give us your cash and there won't be any."

"Dean?" Sam, at their table, was facing toward Dean, eerily able to hone in on the direction of Dean's voice. "Is there a problem?"

Ah, shit. Diplomacy was about to go out the window. If either of these bozos even breathed in Sam's direction, they were going down.

The handgun in the small of Dean's back actually itched.

And then Sam slowly stood up, and the two guys harassing Dean actually paled. It made Dean do a double take to see what had spooked them. Then comprehension dawned and the hunter grinned and sidled past his accosters.

Sam was a _big_ guy. It was hard to tell just how big when he was sitting down, and the two idiots had obviously overlooked that when they had decided Dean would be an easy mark. But now, as 6'4" of muscled and concerned Sam stood there, frowning in their direction and looking downright intimidating with that blind stare, they were thinking they'd bitten off more than they could chew.

And halle-freakin'-lujah, they had no idea Sam was blind.

Suddenly, Dean was insanely glad his brother hadn't wanted the pancakes. Not that he was overly concerned these asses were something Dean couldn't handle, but the fewer people he had to kill in a day, the better. And he was positive that if the guys knew Sam was blind, not only wouldn't they have backed off, they might have done something even more stupid than trying to rob Dean: they might have looked the wrong way at Dean's little brother.

"Like I said, boys," Dean smoothly slapped a twenty on the table to pay for breakfast and hooked his jacket off the back of the chair, his gaze hard and unflinching, "you got the wrong guy."

"Yeah," the bearded guy begrudgingly admitted, "guess we do." And then they were—thankfully—gone out the diner door before Dean had to take his blind brother's arm and led him to the car, promising Sam the full scoop once they were on the way.

Dean made quick work of clearing town, more determined than ever to get to Bobby's and get his brother fixed. They'd been lucky this time, and Dean would be damned if there'd be a next time.

tbs


	3. Chapter 3

**The Eyes of March**

**March 17th,2007**

Sam woke up, still blind, with a terrible itch on his arm. Scratching at it insanely, he tried to keep from waking Dean. They were still a couple of hours from Bobby's and Sam hated that he was, once again, the reason for a delay. As with the day before, he'd succumbed to carsickness after a few hours of driving, so they'd ended up stopping again.

Dean had done some more digging around, talking to Bobby and anyone else who might be able to help, while Sam lay stretched out on a lumpy bed with a cold facecloth over his eyes. However, while everyone pretty much agreed that Sam had been cursed in some way, no one had any answers, and the brothers were no closer to getting Sam's sight back now than they were before.

Bobby had them try a couple of cleansing rituals—the one involving nudity, Sam did refuse to try—but nothing worked. If it wasn't for his faith in Dean's sheer determination that they were going to fix this, Sam would have been ready to order himself a Seeing Eye dog. A small smile twisted his lips as he continued to scratch at his arm. He doubted any dog would be as protective, adept at keeping him from falling on his face, or annoying as hell as his brother.

Not that Sam would ever admit that to Dean.

"What are you doing?"

The sleep-hoarse voice from across the room had Sam wincing and dropping his hand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," he apologized, and tried to ignore the burning tingle in his skin and an almost frantic need to scratch it. "My arm itches," he finally admitted with a frustrated whine as he sat up and pressed his back against the headboard. This sucked. He heard the sound of shifting sheets from the other bed as his fingers crept back toward the irritation. "Can you—ah—take a look at it?" Oh, God, he hated this. His whole life he had rallied to be treated as an equal, to be seen as a capable adult by his two larger-than-life role models, and now, here he was reduced to having his brother pick out his clothes and check for rashes on his arms.

"Sure," Dean agreed easily, and moments later he was holding Sam's arm.

Although his brother's hands were dry and calloused, their warmth helped settle some of the nagging worry in Sam's heart.

Then Dean hissed, "What the hell?" and tightened his grip.

"What? What is it?" Panic slid into place as Sam tried to pull his arm away, but Dean didn't let him go. "What is it, Dean?"

"How long's it been itching?" Dean asked instead of answering.

Sam shook his head. "I dunno. Not long? When I woke up? Why? What's wrong, Dean? What do you see?"

"There's a… Well… You have a…" Dean seemed at a loss of how to explain it for a moment. He huffed out a poor excuse for a laugh. "You're not going to believe this, Sammy, but…uh…you have a rash—"

"A rash?" Sam managed to yank his arm back indignantly. "All that fuss for a rash? Geesh, Dean, I thought—"

"In the shape of a shamrock," Dean finished.

And that shut Sam up for a moment until finally he managed, "Huh?" and wondered if he looked as stupid as he felt. "Did you just say…?"

"Yeah, Sam. I did."

Dean's voice moved away from the bed, and Sam heard him rifling around for something. Then he was closer again, startling Sam when he took hold of his arm again.

"Easy. I just want to take a picture of it, send it to Bobby. Who knows? Maybe it means something."

"A shamrock?" Sam mused, happy to have something to focus on beyond being blind—even if it did suck—and he tried to scratch the itch again, frowning hard when Dean smacked his hand away.

"Don't scratch," big brother said.

Sam resisted the strong urge to stick his tongue out. He heard the sound of the camera phone click a picture, and then Dean was calling Bobby.

Sam listened, half-distracted and slowly going mad as he fought the urge to scratch. When he heard Dean move away, probably turning his back on Sam as he paced while he spoke with Bobby, Sam drove mercilessly at his arm with his fingers. Ahhh…that felt good—and then Dean was back and smacking his hand away.

"Stop it, I said," Dean growled.

"Bite me," was Sam's oh-so-grownup retort as he tried to shift away.

"Sam, no, seriously." Dean's hands pinned Sam's down. "You're gonna tear yourself to shit. Now stop it or I'll tape oven mitts on your hands again like I did when you were five and had chicken pox!"

"We don't own oven mitts," Sam growled, blushing. Even now, twenty years later, he could remember the humiliation, anger, and frustration.

"I'll buy some," Dean threatened, then let Sam go and finished his conversation with Bobby.

Sam had no idea what he'd done with the phone during their tussle and really didn't want to know.

"What'd Bobby say?" he asked after Dean hung up.

"Well…he thinks that with today being Saint Patrick's Day, it's no coincidence." Dean gently shoved Sam's legs aside and sat down on the bed. "He's got some things to check out but now he thinks, well, somehow we might have pissed off a leprechaun and it whammied you."

"A leprechaun? Do those things even exist?" Sam wondered, slouching down in the bed and sighing tiredly. "Have you been making fun of short people again?" Not that it was something Dean did, but Sam was pretty sure he hadn't come across one ever, and that was something he'd be sure to remember since the dang things terrified the crap out of him, so that left his brother.

"No," Dean started, sounding affronted.

Then something in the pause had Sam leaning up on his elbows. He really wished he could see his brother.

"Uh…actually. Nah." The bed jolted as Dean suddenly stood up. "It couldn't be." Carpet fibers scrunched as Dean paced. "No way."

Slowly sitting up the rest of the way, Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and curled his fingers over the edges of the mattress to keep himself oriented. "No way, what?" He wasn't liking the sound of this.

"Okay, see there's this funny story." Dean didn't really sound very ha-ha funny.

Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to follow along.

"You remember two nights ago—?"

"The last night I could still see?" Sam clarified.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be the one." Dean gave a nervous little chuckle. "Well something funny, or maybe now, not so funny happened when I was out."

"Dean," Sam fought to remember that night, "you didn't go out anywhere. We pulled into town, gassed up the car, and got a room." It was true, they were both exhausted and called it an early night.

"Okay, so 'out' was the wrong term. Sue me, Sammy," Dean snarked. "When I was getting gas then."

Sam felt a headache coming on. He scratched lightly at his arm, then dropped it when he swore he could feel his brother's glare. "Go on," he sighed.

"There was this chick working the cash register and she was pretty flirty. Okay, that's a lie, she was coming on so strong I got a hickey waiting for change."

Sam grimaced at the image. "And?" he prompted, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"And, well, I told her in no uncertain terms, no. Actually I think my words were something like, 'not if I was a dying man and you were the cure.'" Dean blew out a heavy huff as if it killed him to admit the next part. "And, well, the thing is, Sammy, she was…well…really…very…short."

Sam was dumbstruck for a moment. Dean had stopped pacing somewhere across the room, and Sam just knew he was watching him, waiting for Sam's reaction.

"So," Sam tried to choose his words carefully, "what you are telling me, is that I am blind because you said no to a slutty short person, who was in reality a leprechaun?"

"Yeah. Uh. Pretty much?" Dean sounded uncertain.

Sam started to laugh. He couldn't help it. It was absolutely ludicrous—and this was their lives.

"Sam? Sammy? You okay?"

"Am I okay?" Sam was laughing so hard, tears burned his sightless eyes. "Am I okay? Sure, Dean, I am just perfectly fine. Absolutely freaking fine. Dude, did you ever hear of taking one for the team?"

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam couldn't help it, he was still laughing, half doubled over, his body shaking. "What a time to have standards."

"Sam."

"I mean, c'mon, bro, I've see—"

"Enough, Sam!" Dean practically roared.

Sam dropped it. It did take him a moment or two to calm down though, and when he did, he was horrified to realize he was still shaking. And his arm still itched. "Dean?" His head was really beginning to hurt.

"Sam?"

"I suddenly—" Sam swallowed hard, dizzy. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bed as nausea pooled in the pit of his stomach. "—don't feel so good…"

"Sammy?"

He offered his best sickly smile and then promptly lost consciousness.

* * *

"You'd better really be awake this time."

Dean's growly, _worried_, voice was the first thing Sam heard when he opened his eyes.

He was lying on a bed, and wondered for a moment if he'd actually fallen off or if Dean caught him in time. Looking at the worry on his brother's face, Sam had no doubt about it: Dean would never let him fall.

Sam's eyes burned and he offered a wide smile as he swallowed hard and forced the words past the lump in his throat. "You look like shit." He emphasized "look" and waited for his brother's comprehension.

It didn't take long.

And then Dean was grinning like an idiot, and chick flick moments be damned, grabbed Sam and pulled him into a tight hug. "Damn it, Sammy, damn it!"

Sam held on like a desperate man, choking back sobs of sheer relief. "Yeah." He licked his lips and snorted a laugh against his brother's shoulder. "Pretty much."

"You scared the shit out of me when you collapsed like that," Dean admitted, letting Sam go and sitting beside him on the bed.

Hazel-green eyes searched Sam's face, their intensity making Sam blush, but he didn't turn away, drinking in as much the sight of his brother as his brother was drinking in of him. "Sorry," he finally said, stifling a yawn and startled to realize how tired he was.

Dean frowned in concern. "You okay?"

"Just tired," Sam admitted. "Guess getting my sight back took a lot out of me.

"Don't even joke about that," Dean growled, then glanced around the room. "Let's get the hell out of here." He stood and started to gather the few things that had been unpacked. "You can sleep on the drive."

Sam watched his brother for a moment, just _watched_ him, a satisfied look on his face. "I wonder why she reversed the spell," he mused aloud.

"Don't know, don't care," Dean admitted, checking under the beds to make sure they hadn't missed anything. "Maybe we got too far from her. Maybe it was just to teach me a lesson. Who knows?"

Frowning, Sam stood up, grabbed his bag and was very pleased to pick out his own clothes. He did glance down, even more pleased to see he was wearing exactly what Dean said he was. "Teach you a lesson? What lesson?"

Dean shrugged as he shouldered his own duffel and the weapons bag. "Who knows? Do I look like a leprechaun whisperer to you? And if you do answer that question, the weapons will ride shotgun and you can take the trunk!"

Sam laughed as he quickly dressed, then followed his brother out of the room and to the Impala. And God, wasn't she a sight for sore eyes? And didn't this March morning look especially bright and shiny? The colors made him smile, and he was looking forward to finishing the drive to Bobby's. He was just as anxious to get to the junkyard as Dean was, but for some downtime now instead of a "fix." They'd do a quick shave and scrub when they stopped for something to eat. "You know what really sucks, though?"

Dean had the trunk open and glanced at him, a wary look on his face. "What?"

Sam looked down at his arm. Dean was right, he did have a shamrock-shaped rash. He started to scratch. "It still itches."

And didn't stop scratching until Dean pulled up in front of a dollar store and disappeared inside…

* * *

Four hours later, Bobby was staring at the brothers in shock.

Dean was grinning.

Sam had oven mitts duct taped on his hands.

"Idjits," Bobby grumbled, but let them in his house anyway.

It was going to be a long day.

**The End**


End file.
